a good scenting-wind, with rain in the offing, and outside the covert they had a corner to themselves—­Winton knowing a trick worth two of the field’s at-large.  They had slipped there, luckily unseen, for the knowing were given to following the one-handed horseman in faded pink, who, on his bang-tailed black mare, had a knack of getting so well away.  One of the whips, a little dark fellow with smouldery eyes and sucked-in weathered cheeks, dashed out of covert, rode past, saluting, and dashed in again.  A jay came out with a screech, dived, and doubled back; a hare made off across the fallow—­the light-brown lopping creature was barely visible against the brownish soil.  Pigeons, very high up, flew over and away to the next wood.  The shrilling voices of the whips rose from the covert-depths, and just a whimper now and then from the hounds, swiftly wheeling their noses among the fern and briers.

Gyp, crisping her fingers on the reins, drew-in deep breaths.  It smelled so sweet and soft and fresh under that sky, pied of blue, and of white and light-grey swift-moving clouds—­not half the wind down here that there was up there, just enough to be carrying off the beech and oak leaves, loosened by frost two days before.  If only a fox would break this side, and they could have the first fields to themselves!  It was so lovely to be alone with hounds!  One of these came trotting out, a pretty young creature, busy and unconcerned, raising its tan-and-white head, its mild reproachful deep-brown eyes, at Winton’s, “Loo-in Trix!” What a darling!  A burst of music from the covert, and the darling vanished among the briers.

Gyp’s new brown horse pricked its ears.  A young man in a grey cutaway, buff cords, and jack-boots, on a low chestnut mare, came slipping round the covert.  Oh—­did that mean they were all coming?  Impatiently she glanced at this intruder, who raised his hat a little and smiled.  That smile, faintly impudent, was so infectious, that Gyp was melted to a slight response.  Then she frowned.  He had spoiled their lovely loneliness.  Who was he?  He looked unpardonably serene and happy sitting there.  She did not remember his face at all, yet there was something familiar about it.  He had taken his hat off—­a broad face, very well cut, and clean-shaved, with dark curly hair, extraordinary clear eyes, a bold, cool, merry look.  Where had she seen somebody like him?

A tiny sound from Winton made her turn her head.  The fox—­stealing out beyond those further bushes!  Breathless, she fixed her eyes on her father’s face.  It was hard as steel, watching.  Not a sound, not a quiver, as if horse and man had turned to metal.  Was he never going to give the view-halloo?  Then his lips writhed, and out it came.  Gyp cast a swift smile of gratitude at the young man for having had taste and sense to leave that to her father, and again he smiled at her.  There were the first hounds streaming out—­one on the other—­music and feather!  Why didn’t Dad go?  They would all be round this way in a minute!